“Fire—fire from the house!” cried the doctor. “And you, lads, back into
cover.”
But his words were unheeded, no shot was fired, and the last boarder made
good his escape and disappeared with the rest into the wood. In three seconds
nothing remained of the attacking party but the five who had fallen, four on the
inside and one on the outside of the palisade.
The doctor and Gray and I ran full speed for shelter. The survivors would
soon be back where they had left their muskets, and at any moment the fire
might recommence.
The house was by this time somewhat cleared of smoke, and we saw at a
glance the price we had paid for victory. Hunter lay beside his loophole,
stunned; Joyce by his, shot through the head, never to move again; while right in
the centre, the squire was supporting the captain, one as pale as the other.
“The captain’s wounded,” said Mr. Trelawney.
“Have they run?” asked Mr. Smollett.
“All that could, you may be bound,” returned the doctor; “but there’s five of
them will never run again.”
“Five!” cried the captain. “Come, that’s better. Five against three leaves us
four to nine. That’s better odds than we had at starting. We were seven to
nineteen then, or thought we were, and that’s as bad to bear.” *
*The mutineers were soon only eight in number, for the man shot by Mr.
Trelawney on board the schooner died that same evening of his wound. But this
was, of course, not known till after by the faithful party.